


Glitch in the System: Together?

by SystemGlitch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SystemGlitch/pseuds/SystemGlitch
Summary: By K.Sombra drags Widowmaker out for the evening.Uncomfortable gelato happens.





	Glitch in the System: Together?

“You’re coming out with me,” Sombra demanded over the back of Widowmaker’s chair. The sniper, seated at the kitchen table, glanced upwards, meeting her colleague’s gaze with marked disinterest.

“I am not,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“I’m bored. You’re… whatever you are. Come on. It won’t be long. Just a walk.”

“I’m busy,” Widowmaker muttered into her teacup. “Clearly.”

“One hour,” Sombra pressed, holding up a finger where the other woman could see. “Just one. Promise. It’s not a date; so it won’t be any longer.”

Widowmaker looked past the shorter woman to the stovetop, its digital clock proclaiming 1900 in ostentatious neon red. The gesture, in truth, was empty; she had nowhere to be and even she couldn’t justify the necessity of another hour’s jog around the atrium perimeter. Try as she might to maintain it, her aversion to her proposal was fading in light of alternatives or excuses.

“ _D’accord_ ,” she shrugged.“Let me change.”

November’s coolness settled over Venice, its streets a little emptier with the end of summer’s bustling tourist season. What remained were mostly locals, human and omnic alike, and a smaller, savvier handful of visitors from overseas. Widowmaker hardly noticed the chill, the thin, exceptionally tailored black peacoat thrown over her shoulders a hallmark of form rather than function. Sombra, on the other hand, walked determinedly against the slight chill, head down and hands buried in her coat pockets as if bracing against an impending arctic blast.

“It’s not so bad,” Widowmaker noted, a mocking smirk tucked into the corner of her mouth.

“Shut it, Lacroix,” the hacker grumbled, ducking into a narrow alley cutting across the block. Widowmaker followed, keeping pace only by virtue of the length of her stride.

“It is, literally, fifteen degrees,” the taller woman quipped.

“Yeah, Fahrenheit maybe.”

“Celsius. You’re such a child.”

Sombra stopped precisely long enough to shoot her accomplice a cutting glare over one shoulder before tugging the collar of her jacket flush against her neck. Widowmaker’s grin broadened; it was rare that  _she_  got under  _Sombra’s_  skin, and these fleeting victories were as precious as they were few.

They continued in silence, the comfortable default of their partnership - for the sniper, at least. Sombra always seemed intent on breaking it, either through provocation or nagging attempts at conversation. It never ceased to be an annoyance, though Widowmaker found herself minding it less as their weeks stationed in Italy stretched beyond a month. She came to expect it; peace and quiet punctuated by the hacker’s haphazard attempts at - what was it, exactly? Entertainment? She couldn’t quite tell what the other woman was after. On occasion, she wondered whether it was research, but Widowmaker, finding the thought conspicuously uncomfortable, was always quick to dismiss that particular suspicion.

Sombra stopped at the edge of the alleyway, glancing to either side of herself before cutting the right corner and pointing to the building before her. Widowmaker tilted her head.

“Gelato?”

The ombré-haired woman nodded. “What about it?”

“I thought you were cold,” she observed dryly.

“You want gelato or not?” Sombra asked, her smile betraying her attempt at impatience as she opened and held the door.

“ _Insieme_?”

The shopkeep, an apron-clad omnic whose articulation suggested - intentionally or otherwise - a permanent mask of concern, inclined its head from behind the register.

Sombra glanced to Widowmaker, who returned her puzzled expression with raised eyebrows.

“Ah,” the hacker began, averting her gaze. “You want me to-”

Widowmaker scoffed, shaking off her hesitation by bumping her partner out of the way with her hip. Never mind that they  _both_ faltered at the question.  _Silly_ , she thought, suppressing the observation with an urgency she was far from willing to unpack.

“ _Insieme_ ,” she nodded, producing her wallet from her coat and sliding a few credits across the counter. “ _Grazie_.” She accepted the change offered her with a thin smile, tucking it and her wallet back into her pocket before accepting the gelato from the omnic.

“ _Buonasera_ ,” the owner called from behind them as Sombra held the door for her companion.

“ _Altrettanto a te!”_ Widowmaker replied over her shoulder before shoving Sombra’s cone into her unexpecting hands.

The pair elected to continue their stroll, walking side by side along cobblestone sidewalks smeared with the sun’s final, golden rays. The gelateria behind them, Sombra seemed infinitely more at ease than she was minutes prior. Widowmaker noticed but elected not to comment, lest she draw attention to her own unplaceable discomfort.

“Italian, huh?” Sombra asked after a spell, peering over the edge of her cone in search of any last remnants of gelato. Raspberry, of course - the same for both of them.  _Embarrassing_ , the sniper had sighed inwardly.

“What was it?” she asked airily, recalling an earlier conversation. “‘Romance languages and shit’?”

The hacker grinned. “Romance languages and shit.”

They came to a stop along a footbridge, stopping at its center - the nexus between two of the city’s hundred islands, all separated by its famous network of canals. On either side of them, life persisted, its denizens unaware of the assassin and the spy mere inches, feet, and yards from its collective doorsteps. Here, Widowmaker noted, they were just people.

Her phone buzzed from within her pocket. She checked it idly, cradling it in the palm of her hand at an angle that allowed her to read the notification blaring across the screen - a message from Gabriel that simply read, “CAT???”.

She sighed, noting the time as she relinquished her grip on the device. Nearly 2100.

“Hm.”

Sombra looked up, her uncharacteristic silence subsequent the omnic shopkeep’s innocent question as telling as the sniper’s own over-compensation. “What?” she asked.

“Over an hour,” Widowmaker observed with a transient half-smile. “I thought this wasn’t a date.”


End file.
